Chapter Twelve
“G ood afternoon, Lady Fortuity,” the shopkeeper sang out from behind the counter.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mortimore.” Fortuity paused a few steps into the bookstore and pulled in a deep breath, reveling in the sweet perfume of exciting new stories waiting to be discovered. “By the way, this is my sister, Lady Grace.”
“Good afternoon to you as well, Lady Grace,” the kindly matron said.
“Good afternoon.” Grace looked around the establishment in wide-eyed wonder. “Serendipity will have nine kinds of fits if she discovers I came here today.” She moved past Fortuity and started sorting through the crammed bookshelves.
“Ha!” Mrs. Mortimore disappeared from view with a quiet thud, then emerged from behind the tall counter that concealed her whenever she hopped down off the wooden crate, which elevated her to a height that enabled her to better serve her customers. “Is this the same Lady Serendipity whose most recent order is to be picked up later this week?”
“Indeed, it is,” Fortuity said with a wry grin. The eccentric shopkeeper might be tiny in stature, but she was enormous in spirit. Mrs. Mortimore was one of Fortuity’s most favorite people in the world, and she considered her a trusted friend.
“‘Do as I say and not as I do’ Serendipity?” Grace rolled her eyes and returned to browsing through the books. “Such a hypocrite. I should have known.”
“You know of the collection of stories she always kept hidden from Mama. Seri could start her own library.” Fortuity turned back to Mrs. Mortimore and winked. “Or a bookstore.”
The shopkeeper cackled as she tucked her wild, silvery curls back behind her ears. “I shall keep her in mind should I ever decide to retire. Perhaps she might wish to take over?” She motioned them toward a set of shelves at the back of the shop. “My newest volumes are just there. I put them out today. You ladies are the first to see them.”
Grace stayed put, engrossed by the contents of the first shelf she’d discovered. Fortuity followed Mrs. Mortimore to the rear of the shop, excited to be the first to peruse the new titles.
“Have you time for tea today, my lady?” Mrs. Mortimore asked her. “I have a lovely new custom blend from Twinings. They made it especially for me, and I am quite besotted with it.”
“That would be delightful.” Fortuity couldn’t think of a better way to escape the woes of this past fortnight’s disasters. If they didn’t get Eleanor married off soon and discover a way to rip out the Duchess of Esterton’s claws, Fortuity held little hope for her sanity and even less for the survival of her marriage.
Matthew couldn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t extinguish her insecurities as easily as snuffing out a candle. She was sure of herself when it came to her writing or any number of other things, but when it came to knowing with any level of certainty that her husband was really and truly devoted to her? She still failed miserably. Wicked little voices at the back of her mind kept whispering that as soon as the new wore off their intimacy, he would tire of her and be ready to move on. After all, he had conquered her and claimed her spoils. Once a man got what he wanted, sometimes he discovered he didn’t want it anymore. The thrill was in the hunt. She had once overheard Mama tell that very thing to Papa about one of their acquaintances.
“Lady Fortuity?” Holding a tray with a teapot and cups, Mrs. Mortimore nodded at the small, round table in a cozy nook stocked with overflowing shelves. “Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem yourself today.”
“That is because a pair of wicked ghosts from her husband’s past won’t leave her alone,” Grace said while slowly working her way along another shelf, then moving on to the next. Keeping her gaze locked on the spot where she had paused, she slid a pile of books onto the table, then returned to the shelf and took back up where she had stopped. “Do you have any books on poisons or issuing curses? That might help her.”
“Gracie.”
“Do not growl at me. You know it is true, and I distinctly remember your saying you trusted Mrs. Mortimore implicitly.”
“Why thank you, Lady Fortuity.” The kindness and understanding in Mrs. Mortimore’s eyes did little to ease Fortuity’s embarrassment. “Sit and pour our tea while I draw the shade. We shall talk as long as it takes.”
“Draw the shade?”
“Of course. Since I am the owner, I close whenever I wish—and I now wish it.” The shopkeeper didn’t bother looking back as she made her way to the door, pulled down the shade with the assistance of a long, hooked rod, then turned the latch and locked it. “Now, we can relax and enjoy our tea uninterrupted.”
Grace stacked another pile of books beside the first pile she had selected.
“You mean to purchase all of those?” Fortuity asked, trying to recall the last time she had seen her sister reading.
“They are about dogs.”
“Ah.” That explained everything. Dogs were Grace’s favorite subject. Fortuity added a dollop of milk to Mrs. Mortimore’s tea, then handed the saucer and cup to her. “I did not realize your shop’s offerings were so wide ranging.”
The shopkeeper gave her a sly grin as she lifted her steaming drink for a sip. “Not everyone enjoys the stories many young ladies are excited to read and keep hidden from their mothers.”
“Indeed.” Fortuity recalled that many of her sisters’ scandalous books were still hidden in cupboards and drawers even though Mama had passed away over two years ago. Determined not to allow her spirits to sink any lower, she sampled the tea and held the rich, herbaceous blend on her tongue, breathing in to enjoy the heady new flavor.
Mrs. Mortimore’s eyes sparkled. “Delicious, isn’t it? Twinings never disappoints.”
“It is indeed exquisite.” Fortuity relaxed back into the threadbare yet comfortable chair and allowed herself a sigh.
“Poisons, curses, or perhaps a book about hiring assassins?” Grace asked Mrs. Mortimore.
“Gracie!” Fortuity groaned, then turned to the shopkeeper. “Please pay her no mind. She is not nearly as bloodthirsty as she seems.”
“She loves her sister and seeks to help her,” the matron said. “Quite admirable of her, I think.”
Grace gave Fortuity a victorious smirk, then hopped up from the table, returned to the last shelf she’d been pawing through, and fetched another book. “This one is a gothic murder mystery. Perhaps it will give us some ideas.”
Fortuity heaved another desolate sigh, wondering what had ever possessed her to bring her sister to her favorite sanctuary.
“Who are these ghosts who dare torment my dearest friend?” Mrs. Mortimore daintily held her teacup between her hands while propping her elbows on the table. She took a sip and kept the drink elevated as if another sip should soon follow.
“My husband’s cousin, Miss Eleanor Sykesbury, has returned to London. Staying with us, in fact, while she looks for a husband. I am certain you heard of her when reading about the astonishing speed of my nuptials in the gossip rags.”
Mrs. Mortimore narrowed her eyes in a displeased squint. “Yes. I recall the name. From you, actually, when you told me you had taken Lord Ravenglass’s name, then insisted I still call you Lady Fortuity.”
“So I did.” Fortuity felt a momentary flash of guilt. “I am so sorry. It appears I come whining to you whenever I am troubled.”
The ever-patient matron lowered her teacup back to its saucer and gently patted Fortuity’s arm. “I am honored that you confide in me. That is what genuine friends do.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mortimore. I do cherish you.”
“Well, go on. Tell her about the other ghost,” Grace prodded without looking up from the book she had propped open against her cup and saucer.
“I believe I already know the identity of the other ghost.” The matron rose from her chair and disappeared behind the tall counter at the side of the shop. After an abundance of rustling and disgruntled mumbling, she reappeared with a pamphlet in her hand. After climbing back into her seat, she placed it on the table, then flattened her small, delicate hand on top of it. “This is the latest edition of On Dit—What a Treat . There is mention of a widowed duchess—by name—and her determination to win back a certain viscount whom she left standing at the altar some years ago.”
Fortuity’s heart fell, and her face blazed hot with embarrassment and humiliation. She swallowed hard and forced in a deep breath, held it to a slow count of five, and then let it out. “May I see it, please?”
“Are you certain?” Doubtfulness and concern filled Mrs. Mortimore’s tone.
“Yes. Absolutely.” Fortuity unfolded the reprehensible sheet and found the paragraph immediately.
Have you ever wondered which is stronger? Old love or new? Or is the new love not really love at all but a simple act of honor? We know what the Duchess of Esterton hopes, since she has not only sent innumerable correspondences to her dashing viscount’s home but also allows her lovesick gaze to follow him wherever he goes. She may be a widow, but he is not. Could it be, though, that he is in the market for a mistress? We all know how dreadfully dull marriages of convenience can be. Undoubtedly, Her Grace would happily comply with whatever her dear raven requests.
Fortuity handed the pamphlet to her sister, knowing Grace would wish to read it.
“That woman’s self-worth must be lower than the gutter.” Grace tossed the despicable sheet to the table and wrinkled her nose as if it stank.
“What do you mean?” Fortuity asked.
“She had to have given them those details,” Grace said. “How else would they know she had sent innumerable correspondences to your Matthew?”
“Perhaps they guessed? Hoping to strike a nerve?” And strike a nerve they had. Fortuity felt like crawling into a hole and sobbing.
“When they guess at things they are usually more vague,” Mrs. Mortimore said. “According to what you are saying, the details of that drivel are too accurate. Of course, anyone could observe her watching your husband, but knowledge about the correspondence is different. They purchased that information, either from the widow herself or someone else. Who else would know about the letters?”
“Only my family and the servants.” Fortuity knew none of her sisters would ever take part in such a heartless attack. That only left the servants. “But I thought they liked me.” A sense of despondency as heavy as lead filled her.
“Who?” Mrs. Mortimore asked.
“Matthew’s servants.” Fortuity wrung her hands together, slowly shaking her head. “Mrs. Greer helped us care for Mama before I recommended her for the housekeeper’s position after Mama passed. The others seem happy enough with me. I cannot think of a single one with whom I have had a cross word.”
“Perhaps one of them needed money,” the shopkeeper suggested. “Desperate circumstances often force people to do desperate things.”
Fortuity glared at the pamphlet on the table. “I am so tired of all the stares, the whispers, the covert glances at every dinner party, every ball, even at the theatre and modiste. One would think I ran a brothel in the middle of Mayfair.”
“Unfortunately, there is little you can do other than hold your head up and stare them down,” Mrs. Mortimore said. “There is no fighting the tattling tongues of the ton. ”
“Perhaps not.” Fortuity snatched up the pamphlet. “But I must at least learn if my household is secure. If it was not the widow who gave them this information, what if this person decides they need more coin? Who knows what else they might attempt to sell? They might even decide to make things up and sell them lies.”
Mrs. Mortimore thoughtfully tipped her head to one side. “There is always that possibility.”
“How do you intend to discover your betrayer?” Grace asked. “Any you ask will simply deny any part in it and claim innocence.”
“I know I can trust Mrs. Greer. She was such an angel with Mama.” Fortuity wished she could say that of the others. They all seemed nice enough, and their work was exemplary, but she simply hadn’t known them as long as she’d known the servants back at Broadmere House.
“I have always thought Thebson an odd sort.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “But as bumbling and unorganized as he is, do you truly believe he could not only orchestrate but conceal such a betrayal?”
“Perhaps his bumbling is an act?” Mrs. Mortimore suggested.
“No one could put on an act that convincing,” Fortuity said while mentally crossing the butler off the list of possibilities. “But he is the one who not only received the letters at the door but also delivered them to Matthew.”
“Did Matthew open them in front of him? Did the man know what the letters held or who they were from?” Grace asked.
Fortuity frowned, trying to remember. “No. Matthew didn’t open any of them in front of him, and as far as I can recall, Thebson only mentioned a messenger waiting for a response on the first letter. But that does not necessarily mean he knew the duchess was the sender.” She held up the pamphlet to Mrs. Mortimore. “May I have this copy, please? I need it to confront my staff.”
“Of course, my lady.” The matron refreshed her tea, then gave a curt nod. “And if there is anything else I may do to help with this unpleasantness, I beg of you, do not hesitate to ask.”
“This sanctuary you provide helps me more than you could ever know,” Fortuity told her. “I am most grateful for your friendship and your understanding ear.”
Mrs. Mortimore accepted the praise and thankfulness with a graceful nod. “It is my honor, my lady. Now, do finish your tea before it grows cold.”
Fortuity obediently took another sip, knowing she would need the tea’s fortification for the next activity on this afternoon’s agenda: interrogating her staff.
*
“You do not have to come inside and help,” Fortuity said. “It could become unpleasant.” She dreaded what she was about to do, dreaded it with a fury.
Grace gave her a defiant look as they climbed Ravenglass Townhouse’s front steps. “No one betrays one of my sisters and escapes my wrath. No one.”
“Very well, then.” Fortuity glanced back at George, Broadmere House’s head footman, standing beside the carriage bearing the Broadmere ducal crest. “Guard Lady Grace’s books well, George. You know how she can be.”
The handsome young man grinned, then gave them a proper bow. “With my life, Lady Ravenglass.”
As they entered the townhouse, Thebson failed to greet them, but Ignatius the pug and Rumbles the ginger cat made up for his absence. The enthusiastic animals bounced around them, vying for attention.
“You need more dogs,” Grace said as she scratched the wiggling canine behind his ears. “Poor Ignatius is outnumbered.”
Fortuity rubbed the loudly purring orange tabby under his chin. “Rumbles here acts more like a dog than a cat. That evens the odds somewhat.”
Mrs. Greer came around the corner and clapped her hands. “All right, you two. Off with you to the kitchen. Cook has you a treat, and those other three are already at it. You best hurry or there’ll be none left for you.”
Appearing to understand every word, the pug and the cat took off down the hallway.
“And how are you this fine day, Lady Grace?” Mrs. Greer asked with her usual cheerfulness.
“That remains to be seen, I am afraid.” Grace gave Fortuity a pointed look.
“Oh dear.” The housekeeper turned to Fortuity with an expectant tip of her head. “My lady?”
Fortuity picked at the cat hair on her gown, loathing what she was about to do. “Mrs. Greer, could you please assemble everyone, including Mr. Ablesby, Mr. Turnmaster, and the stable lads? I would like to speak to the entire household regarding a most dire matter.”
“Everyone as well as the valet, head groom, and the lads?” The housekeeper’s eyes went wide, and she clucked like a fretting hen. “Must be a dire matter, indeed.”
“Indeed, it is.” Fortuity swallowed hard and squared her shoulders, determined to see this through. “Please gather them in the dining room, then come and fetch me from my office.”
“At once, my lady.” Mrs. Greer toddled off, still making fretting noises and shaking her head.
“I hate this,” Fortuity told her sister as they entered her office to wait. “I hate this with everything in me.”
“You have no choice. You have to be able to trust your staff. Don’t accuse them. Just read the insulting drivel to them, and I shall help you by watching their reactions.”
“What if they fail to react?”
Grace scowled at Fortuity as if she thought her a mindless ninny. “Of course they will react. How could they not? And whoever doesn’t react may be your culprit.” She moved to the window, fingered the draperies aside, and peered out. “By the way, where is your husband?”
“I am not sure.” Fortuity held her head, massaging her temples and wishing the ever-increasing ache would cease its pounding. There was no time for a megrim today, and this confrontation, a thing she never did well, would only fuel it with a vengeance. “Matthew told me, but I have forgotten. We had words this morning.”
“From your expression, I take it the words were not pleasant ones?”
“His patience has worn thin with my insecurities regarding our relationship.” Fortuity gave up on trying to ease her throbbing head and pressed both hands to her aching heart. “He does not understand why I cannot ignore all the furor that Eleanor and the dowager duchess create.” She slowly shook her head. “I wish I could ignore them, and all the trouble they stir, but I simply cannot.” She pulled the folded gossip rag from her reticule and sadly stared down at it. “How can I, Gracie? They are trying to steal away that which I longed for and feared I would never have.”
Grace hurried over and gave her a reassuring hug. “But you do have it. That is what you must always keep in mind, and fight them. Do not fight Matthew and push him away. That is what they are trying to force you to do. Do not let them steal your joy and win.”
“I am trying to be strong.” Fortuity pulled in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh. “There is simply so much to lose.”
“You are not going to lose anything. We will not allow it. Be like Mama. Would she allow anyone to take Papa from her?” Grace jerked her head downward in a determined nod. “You have always shown great strength, Tutie. I know it is wearing thin, but remember, you have the advantage. You are Matthew’s wife.”
A light tap on the door interrupted them.
“Yes?” Fortuity braced herself, sensing it was time.
Mrs. Greer opened the door wide enough to peep inside. “Everyone is in the dining room, my lady. Just as you asked.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Greer. I shall be right there.”
The housekeeper nodded and closed the door.
Fortuity tossed her reticule onto her desk, along with the light shawl she had worn to protect her from the coolness of the spring day. She never wore hats. Hated them, in fact. But she tugged off her gloves and deposited them into the pile with the rest of her things, refusing to wear them in her own home. One of the maids would take them up to Anne so she could get them sorted. She turned and noticed Grace had shed her outerwear as well and draped her things over a nearby chair.
“Ready?” Fortuity asked her sister, already seeing the answer in Grace’s snapping eyes.
Grace nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Very well, then.” With the dreadful gossip rag in hand, Fortuity led the way to the dining room.
Mrs. Greer had assembled every servant in Ravenglass’s employ and had them lined up as though they were about to be marched off to the gallows. Some in the somber group were quite pale. Others twitched in place, nervously shifting and resettling their stance.
Fortuity cleared her throat and held up the tattered pamphlet. “I do not know if any of you are aware of this despicable publication, but this particular edition contains an extremely unsavory paragraph about Lord Ravenglass. Anything that besmirches him also besmirches me, and this most definitely does.”
She cleared her throat again and read the terrible thing aloud, proud that her voice remained strong and didn’t quiver a single time. Once finished, she slowly refolded the pamphlet into the small wad she’d carried in her reticule, then lifted her head and studied each and every servant, noting their expressions of shock and some even of horror. Mrs. Greer had turned an alarming shade of red and held her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles glowed a bright white.
“I am not accusing any of you,” Fortuity said, hoping she sounded sincere, “but the part about the correspondences concerns me. How would this publication come by such information?” She paused, hoping Grace was having better luck than she was at deciphering their expressions. “If not given to this rag by the dowager duchess herself, how would they know she had sent several messages here to Lord Ravenglass?”
Mrs. Greer stepped forward and whirled about, prowling up and down the line of servants like a warring general. “If any of you betrayed her ladyship and his lordship, I shall have your guts for garters!” She shook her fist at them. “Confess now, so we can call the vicar to pray over whatever is left after I finish with you.” She halted in front of the butler and jabbed a plump finger in his face. “You! Thebson! You would be the one to deliver whatever letters came here. Only you would know how many and who they were from.”
The old man sputtered and spat and, for the first time since Fortuity had met him, actually showed some emotion. “I would never!” he said in a loud, bellowing voice that was surprisingly strong for one his age. “I have been with Lord Ravenglass since he was born. Never would I betray him.” He pointed a shaking finger at Fortuity. “Nor would I do anything to harm or sadden our fine mistress. Her ladyship deserves only the very best of our honor, respect, and protection.”
The rest of the servants agreed with vigorous nods. One of the stable lads stepped forward and said, “We would never tell private things about this house, your ladyship. You and his lordship treat us good and pay us well. ’Twould be a sorry cove, indeed, who did such a cutthroat thing.”
They all seemed so sincere, so sympathetic, and angry about the cruel gossip. Fortuity glanced at Grace—who waved her closer.
“I do not think it was any of them,” she whispered. “It must have come from the duchess.”
“I feel the same,” Fortuity said just as quietly. She turned back to the dedicated group of people. “Thank you all so much. I appreciate everything you do for his lordship and myself. Again, I was not accusing any of you, but you needed to know that someone somewhere is handing over information about our household. If any of you see anything suspicious, please bring it to my attention. Thank you for meeting here today. You may return to your duties.”
Mrs. Greer shooed them out of the room as if herding sheep. As she reached the servants’ door that led to the kitchen, she turned and gave Fortuity an apologetic bow. “I am more than a little sorry about that ugliness, my lady. Very sorry, indeed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Greer. I know you are.”
“What is going on here?” Matthew asked from the doorway of the dining room, his cloak in the crook of his arm.
“I’ll be going now,” Grace announced. She curtsied to Matthew. “Brother.” Then she scurried around him and disappeared.
“Fortuity?”
His befuddled yet displeased expression made Fortuity wish she had handled things in a timelier fashion. She had never intended to show him the horrid sheet of gossip. But it appeared there was no helping it now. “Gracie and I visited Mrs. Mortimore’s bookshop today, and she showed me this.” She handed him the tightly folded wad of paper.
He frowned down at it as he gingerly unfolded the thing, as if it held a poisonous viper. “And this is?”
“ On Dit—What a Treat, ” she said. “One of the more popular gossip rags in London.”
With a shake of his head, he heaved a great sigh. “I suppose there is something in here about us?”
“About you, mainly. I am only implied.”
“Where?” His voice had gone to that dull, dreaded tone he recently took on whenever their conversations shifted to her insecurities about their marriage and feelings for one another.
She echoed his heavy sigh but stood her ground with her hands folded in front of her. “Midway down the first page. The paragraph discussing the Duchess of Esterton’s hopes.”
His eyes narrowed, and the muscles in his jaw rippled as he read the offensive piece. Then, ever so slowly, he crumpled it into a ball and hurled it at the hearth. He stared at it as the flames took hold and ate into the paper, then he turned back to her, his eyes filled with pain. “You were questioning the staff to see if there was a betrayer among them?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you discover?”
“I do not believe any of them handed over the information about the duchess’s letters. They all were as incensed as I about the gossip sheet and what it held. Gracie watched their reactions and came to the same conclusion. Our staff can be trusted.”
“Why would the duchess do such a thing?” He raked his hand through his hair. “Does she not realize how foolish, how terribly pathetic, this paints her?”
“That is why I questioned our staff. I could not imagine why anyone would purposely portray themselves in such a poor light. Has your Olandra suffered from low self-worth in the past?”
His glare hardened on her as he ever so slightly bared his teeth. “She is not my Olandra, dear wife. You are the only woman I consider mine. Why do you find that so impossible to accept?”
“Did you not once tell me you did not feel for me what you had felt for her?” Fortuity refused to cry in front of him. No matter how badly her eyes burned to release the unshed tears that made her pounding head hurt even worse. “Do you recall that conversation?”
“As I recall, I said it was not the same. That does not mean that I do not love and cherish you.” Once again, he combed his fingers through his dark hair, making the thick, rich locks stand on end. “You are my world, Fortuity. My entire world. I beg you to know the depth of my love for you and find comfort and peace in it.”
She turned away and held her head, closing her eyes as she dug her thumbs into her temples and tried to rub the pain away. She hated all this turmoil, absolutely hated it. “What I know for certain is that I weary of the humiliation heaped upon me everywhere we go because of Eleanor and Olandra’s evil machinations and manipulation of Polite Society’s opinions.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. Once she would’ve luxuriated in his embrace, but now all she had the strength to deal with was this bloody throbbing in her head. She had reached her limits for the day, for the foreseeable future, really. She had reached her limits about everything.
“You are not well,” he said as he gently turned her to face him. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms and cradled her like a babe.
“What are you doing?” A groan escaped her as she buried her face into the perfect folds of his cravat.
“I am taking you to bed, to rest and be pampered. I am certain our Mrs. Greer will have a tonic to help you feel better and return the color to your lovely cheeks.”
She swallowed hard, suddenly finding herself dangerously nauseated. “Do not sway me, Matthew. Everything inside me is threatening to come back out.” She squinted her eyes tightly shut and focused on taking slow, deep, relaxing breaths.
“Mrs. Greer! Anne!”
“Matthew! I beg you, do not shout, or I shall spew all over you.”
“We are nearly there, my love. Hold fast.” He kicked open the door to their private suite, crossed the sitting room, then kicked open the bedchamber door. “Where the devil are those women? Do they not realize they are needed?”
“Just get me to the bed. All I need is a bit of a lie-down to be rid of this silliness.”
He lowered her into the pillows, not even bothering to turn back the counterpane. After ripping off his jacket and spreading it across her, he gently brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. “I shall return with those blasted women, so you might know some relief.”
She curled into a tighter ball beneath his coat and breathed in his familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to its fibers. It steadied her. It was almost as if she was still in his arms.
“Do not bellow at them,” she said as loudly as she dared as he went to leave the room.
“I will not bellow at them.”
“Liar,” she mumbled to herself. But his protectiveness made her smile.